In the cosmic womb of primordial disgust,
His essence spewed, incarnate shit,
Consciousness is born from rancid bile,
A world baptized in vomit and guile,

He staggered, half-formed, on vomitous plains,
Eyes like ulcers soaked in pain,
Prayers convulsed in putrid grace,
A crawling soul in poisoned space,

God puked into waking flesh,
Seraphic maws ripped his spirit fresh,
Grafted on wings of carrion delight,
Feasting on his dying light,

Feathered fiends, horns awash in gore,
Slammed his soul on heaven’s floor,
Serrated tongues licked divine decay,
Dining on the plasma he spat away.

His Heartbeat stalled in fractured hymn,
A requiem drowned in putridity,
No prayer could save that wretched form,
It was their feast in their bloodstorm.

Spit-out Deity, hollowed and torn,
Birthe in bile, instantly mourned.
Servile Wings devouring the last breath’s scream,
Gnawing the carcass of a shattered dream,

God puked into waking flesh,
Seraphic maws ripped his spirit fresh,
Grafted on wings of carrion delight,
Feasting on his dying light,

Left in the abyss, a void so divine,
No divinity remains, just rancid time,
Crawling from bile to birth anew,
Spawned into vomit that once was you.

Cosmogony: Cathedrals of Falling Light

In the beginning was the Rancid Birth, when God, undone by cosmic sickness, vomited the very seed of consciousness into the void. The angels, ravenous for divine substance, descended upon that putrid well, devouring each blistering drop. Intoxicated by the raw essence of creation, they staggered madly until their wings collapsed and their hearts failed. Their carcasses, great ivory-pink husks, fell like dying stars. From each corpse gushed ichor, coagulated sinew, and quivering marrow. These became the earth, the seas, and the bones of the world that would be.